The American Way

On a lazy Sunday morning, after taking the dog out for a morning hike/bathroom break, I settle on the couch to surf the channels for a few pre-breakfast minutes. Fortune smiles on me and I stumble upon Die Hard on A&E HD, a cable movie channel that shows a large number of awesome, though edited, feature films.

As a believer in free speech I prefer owning the unedited versions of everything I purchase, but there is some fascination for me in viewing something I’ve seen a million times in a restricted form. It’s always interesting to see what gets cut.

Stumbling into the film just as Hans and his squad are busting up the Christmas party in the Takagi building, I was not at all surprised when the chest of an up-close topless woman was blurred away. Now, we all know the preference in American media for violence over nudity and even profanity, but the coming moments were pretty stunning by even our standards.

In his office, Mr. Takagi refuses to cooperate with Hans in opening the electronically coded piece of the corporate safe. After a countdown, Hans looks Takagi in the eyes and shoots him in the face, with a large amount of blood exploding out the back of his head and covering the glass door windows behind him. As the audience, we hear the gun fire, see Takagi’s head jerk backward, and blood cover the windows in front of the camera.

The fact that this is unedited is a little disturbing, but it is the juxtaposition with what follows that truly captures the moment. After a mishap, John McClane is upstairs, berating himself. “Why didn’t you save him, John? ‘Cause then you’d be dead, too,” followed by blurred mouth, and silence. The missing word, for those of unfamiliar with the film, is asshole.

A moment later, staring across the street into a lit apartment, a woman is undressing at a great distance. Though barely visible, even in HD, there is a blurred circle over her lower body. You’d think I needn’t explain what makes up the missing picture, but you’d be wrong. This is not some lurid shot removed for the sake of the children, but a barely discernible image from some fifty yards. The director edited the scene with distance and darkness, and we didn’t need a digital cloud to get the job done.

As a recap, the audience has now seen a man’s brains blown out in direct view, followed by the removal of a not-that-bad-of-a-word and the blurring of telescopic nudity. Graphic violence: check. Bad word and almost nudity: no check. This is the censor’s equivalent of nailing Capone on tax evasion.

I thought I was okay with the status quo in American media, but I’m just not sure I can accept it any longer. It’s just childish to be offended by one and so nonchalant about the other. I’m not arguing for on-screen sexual acts, but could we at least pare down the gap in the double standard? Either lessen the nudity controls or crank up the violence ones. We may need to examine our values as a society when we view a bad word as worse than an execution right before our eyes.

Side note: after completing this post and doing a couple chores, I came back and caught the end of the movie and the beginning of the next, Analyze This. I loved seeing Karl get shot at the end of the former, blood squirting and body heaving, and then watching Paul Vitti (Robert De Niro) interrogate somebody with the censors on overdrive. Any De Niro mafia performance comes with its fair share of F-bombs, and the absence of his catch word makes for high comedy, especially when their removal comes immediately after a brutal killing.

Cultural Arrogance

I had a conversation/debate with a family friend the other night when the concept of cultural superiority came up. Now the politically correct answer is all cultures are equal, but we know this isn't true. I believe all people all created equal, but by this belief I must exclaim that not all cultures are so, as many groups do not recognize this right.

When I say our culture, I mean the greater American Culture, the macroculture of our nation, if you will. I never claimed our culture was the best, simply that it was superior to many. She disagreed, arguing no culture was superior to any other.

She then went on to argue that many women take great security in the burka, and that we have no place to assist a culture in getting rid of it. She then defended monarchies, and said we had no right to suggest democracy was superior. She stated a free press was not necessarily better than a government controlled one.

I am not kidding.

I said ours was superior; she said that was arrogant. I said fine, and superior. No, just arrogant.

I no longer respect the opinions of this individual. I mean it: her thoughts are trash to me, and I'll waste no time giving them time or energy. The First Amendment is the line in the sand. If we stand for, fight for, die for anything it should be the rights of speech, religion, and the press. We can debate much of the rest; bearing arms, wiretapping, torture, presumption of innocence, abortion, the death penalty; I can find arguments for both sides of any of these topics off the top of my head. Some things are simply facts, one-dimensional truths.

Our culture is better than one where a woman raped in a mall is the offender for being in public alone. Period. Voting for office is better than having someone born king or queen, lord until death. Period. Guaranteeing an individual the right to select their own faith, or none at all, is better than forcing a religion upon the masses on pain of death. How can a nation claim to have its population be of a certain religion if the people have only one choice? If all are a faith by force, then none are that faith by choice.

How naive can an individual be? Is this the level of idiocy people have devolved to? I don't even have to tell you to which party this person belonged. Other members of this group should be embarrassed, the same way I am by the bigots in my party.

I'm not saying American culture is better than French culture. Nor do I look down upon the Germans, the Italians, the Brits or any other group that stands for freedom and democracy. I don't know who has the best culture in the free world, if any one nation does. But I don't have to choose, because I have the choice to enjoy them all.

You see, what it comes down to is I hold these truths to be self-evident. I believe every human being is entitled to certain, inalienable rights. Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness. The right to be free from oppression. These are not just words. They are the heart and soul of what is right in this twisted, violent little world of ours. They are all we can agree on, what we must agree on.

The Patriots

No, not the football team, I mean the real deal. The men, and, to be fair, the women, who carved these United States. Not the land, the borders, or the money, but rather the ideas. Or should I say ideals? For rather than throwing off the yoke of an empire, it was these that made the American Revolution truly revolutionary.

I just finished David McCullough’s masterpiece John Adams. No words I put to paper here could ever do it justice. The book is easily one of the most incredible things I’ve ever experienced. What happened over the centuries that killed whatever it was that fueled these great individuals? In addition to the titular character, we have Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, John Hancock, and, the most awesome of them all, George Washington. Do we have anybody who could even hold a candle to any of these men today?

In addition to the incredible story of an amazing man, John Adams is, at its heart, a love story. The incredible relationship he had with his wife, Abigail, in inspiring. His complete intellectual and emotional equal, she was always his best friend and most trusted adviser. McCullough's ability to capture this love, and its importance to the man who wrote what became the precursor to our Constitution, is masterful.

I’ve always been a glutton for the American Revolution, and this quenched my thirst for it in a way no near-starved man could ever appreciate. At the same time, it rekindled the fire for more. I can’t help but think of the copy of 1776, also by McCullough, sitting on the bookshelf in my spare bedroom. Can a mind salivate? I say yes.

Election 08: The Main Event

Let me tell you right out of the gate: I'm excited for this election. I'm a McCain fan. Big time. Absolutely love the guy, and I'll consider it an honor to vote for him. He is one of the three men on my short list for top choices for president, behind only Colin Powell and the governor of California. I know it's not possible-yet-but that could change. After all, he's Arnold, what's to stop him? Back to the topic at hand

Let's be honest though, this campaign isn't about John McCain. A qualified, old, white male veteran is hardly a novel concept for the highest office in the land. Hopefully McCain will win, but he might not. So, in the absolute worst possible situation (i.e. the other party wins) America gets it's first black president, which is also a good thing. I think we'll end up being okay either way.

I don't want Obama for president, but I have to hand it to him. Hillary had every advantage coming into this, and he took it straight to her. She had the money, the infrastructure, the connections. You name, she had it. And he beat her in delegates, states, and the popular vote. Every way you can look at keeping score, he took it to her.

I have a friend working on her campaign, and back in September she was telling me that only McCain would even have a shot against her. Talk about overlooking an opponent. Hillary Clinton came into this election clearly showing the inevitability card, and Obama showed her why they play the games in the first place. Hats off to Mr. Obama. He earned the Democratic nomination. Now it's time for the main event. The Viet Cong couldn't stop McCain, and they were allowed to torture him. We'll see what the kid can do.

European gas prices

I received this at work. It contains some recent figures on where gas prices are in a few European nations and compares them to what we are paying here in the States. $3.70 per gallon (where I live) is not a lot of fun, but this does help put it in perspective.


U.S. Department of Energy Retail Gas Prices by Country (Table)
2008-04-10 15:59 (New York)

By Terry Barrett
April 10 (Bloomberg) -- The following table provides changes in the retail price per gallon of premium gasoline by country, according to the U.S. Department of Energy.
The average price in the following six European countries is $8.37 per gallon, 135.9 percent more than the United States.
===============================================================
----------April 7 (Diff.)
----------2008 (from US)
===============================================================
Belgium $8.44 ($4.89)
France $8.15 ($4.60)
Germany $8.22 ($4.67)
Italy $8.11 ($4.56)
Netherlands $9.24 ($5.69)
U.K. $8.08 ($4.53)
U.S. $3.55 (n/a )
===============================================================
NOTE: Prices include taxes.

SOURCE: U.S. Department of Energy {DOE }

Dance of the Spider

The epitome of a martial artist, he enter the arena. High cheekbones underline challenging eyes, daring any man who would test his mettle. Gifted physically and mentally, he approaches the ring, every step deliberate yet smooth. The agility and the confidence, every muscle efficient and trained. Graceful as a dancer, Anderson Silva enters the cage, his Octagon, the web of the Spider.

And here is where the artist goes to work. Each jab and kick the stroke of a brush, trained at the Chute Boxe Academy. Swift and smooth as bullets they fly, perfected over countless hours of training, his strikes find their marks with unparalleled consistency. Long limbs and flawless technique make him impossible to out strike. Ask iron-jawed, hammer-fisted Dan Henderson.

But to call Silva a striker would be to designate Leonardo da Vinci a mere painter, for inside with the Spider, it only gets worse. His guard is an impossible web, entangled by a black belt in Brazilian Jujitsu bestowed upon him by the Minotauro himself. With a long torso for his height, even at 6'2'', side control is a mile away for opposing middleweights, ground and pound a frivolous dream. No battle can be won when the goal is a stalemate, yet on the mat with Silva, there is little hope of victory. Rich Franklin learned this. Twice.

Franklin was lucky, however, for he got to lose on the ground. It is on the feet, in close, where even God abandons those who stand against Silva. The clinch of the Spider is the omega, an event horizon from which nothing escapes. It is where razor blade elbows and sledgehammer knees fall without mercy, cutting, battering, and breaking both the body and the will.

A Renaissance man, this artist works with every medium of mixed martial arts, and each masterpiece is unique unto itself. Regardless of how it begins, the end is always the same: hands held high, a shining belt around his waste, and the blood of his adversary staining the mat. Oil on canvas. In the web of the Spider.

Why Fear Fedor

(please note, I wrote this back in September 07. It appeared on a few fighting and sports websites. I'm just moving it here because I love this piece.)

Why Fear Fedor? That question is on the minds of many UFC fans, particularly those who new to the sport of mixed martial arts, the ones who call all of it “ultimate fighting.” After all, lets be honest, he doesn’t look like much.

His body is nothing special. He’s big, and strong, but so are dozens of other fighters and millions of other men. He doesn’t have the hard, cut muscles of the allegedly steroid enhanced Sean Sherk. He lacks the streamlined athleticism of “Spider” Silva. His form pales in comparison to the Greco-Roman god physique that belongs to Cheick Kongo.

But the little things give him away, as he is built to be a fighter. Freakishly broad shoulders and a massive ribcage make him tough to hold down and impossible to wrap up, limiting the abilities of the few superior grapplers. Long arms allow him to ground and pound with jaw dropping effectiveness, even from his feet, making obsolete the guards of even the tallest adversaries. His bulging muscles may not inspire fear with vein-popping tightness, but they do so with their effectiveness. Forged with the unbalanced weights Fedor built himself when he lacked access to others, their physical power leaves blood on the mat and devastation in their wake.

In a perfect match with his body, his face doesn’t scare either. Starting at the top, his hair is perfectly normal. No Iceman inspired faux-hawk, no HeadBlade smooth standard fighters scalp; just short brown hair. Above his protruding brow, a big forehead announces a receding hairline, adding to the façade of mortality. A lack of high cheekbones brings roundness to his face, an effect further emphasized by a strong, but rounded jaw line, all built around a large, bulbous nose.

With a couple small changes his face could belong to Santa Claus. The soft, even friendly features meet around the true key to understanding Fedor Emelianenko: his eyes. They are not like the eyes of other fighters. They aren’t the angry, burning coals of Chuck Liddell or Ken Shamrock, declaring excess anger expelled in the ring. They aren’t the hard, unforgiving obsidian blades of Rampage or Wanderlei, spilling secrets about dangerous childhoods. They certainly aren’t the intelligent, cunning eyes of Dan Henderson or Tito Ortiz, warning against brains mixed with brawn. They’re not even the hollow, insane sockets of Monson or Kongo, declaring the darkness within. They are worse.

The eyes of Fedor are dead, amoral, and soulless. Under heavy lids they gaze at the world, lacking wonder, emotion, or life. It is as though he sees everything around him through a screen, leaving the universe blurry, detached, and unimportant. Kill a man or a fly, crush a skull or a can, it matters not. It is said the eyes are windows to a man’s soul, so what lies within Fedor Emelianenko?

If the apocalypse is real, I bring you your Death. Whether he is shattering a body with bone-jarring punches, or crushing the air from lungs with the ease of an anaconda, he seems to feel nothing. When Fedor was born, God took his hammer and his chisel and made a man to end other men. If indeed it was God at all.